


Another Vancouver Condo

by Cordillera



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Body Horror, Canada, Horror, Mental Health Issues, Other, Psychological Horror, Vancouver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordillera/pseuds/Cordillera
Summary: The new loft should have been perfect. It was 1200 square feet with balconies on either side. One had an impressive view of the snow-capped North Shore mountains, and the other overlooked the historic Gastown district. But he noticed that there was a bulge in the ceiling, emitting the smell of mildew mixed in with something indescribable. It was pungent and sickly-sweet, reminiscent of mysterious Chinese medicine force-fed to him as a child. It wasn’t leaking yet, but the bulge was definitely housing something damp.(Original horror short story)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Another Vancouver Condo

The new loft should have been perfect. It was 1200 square feet with balconies on either side. One had an impressive view of the snow-capped North Shore mountains, and the other overlooked the historic Gastown district. He could observe the people roaming the cobblestone streets below: overdressed tourists, shabbily-dressed locals, boisterous pub crawlers, and the ever present homeless.

But Daniel Kwan noticed that there was a bulge in the ceiling, emitting the smell of mildew mixed in with something indescribable. It was pungent and sickly-sweet, reminiscent of mysterious Chinese medicine force-fed to him as a child. It wasn’t leaking yet, but the bulge was definitely housing something damp.

Daniel supposed that he had to move the Eames lounge chair away from the bulge, he didn’t want to risk damaging a piece that had cost almost five grand. It was frustrating as he had spent months scouring real estate listings, making sure that the place had both status and character. He chose a place that made a statement about himself, and the protruding abomination in the otherwise immaculate interior taunted him. Who was going to notice the carefully chosen crisp white paint, the exposed brickwork that added warmth to the dining area, or the neoclassical arch of the windows if all anyone could comment on was the giant fucking bulge?

He jumped as his backside vibrated. The iPhone showed a text from Kassidy.

_I’m in the area. Can I come up? :)_

Daniel bit his cheek. He didn’t like showing people his apartment before it was ready—it was like being seen in dirty sneakers and sweatpants. Granted, half the city didn’t have standards, but he did. He decided to make an exception for Kass.

_Third floor, first door on the left. I’ll buzz you in._

He was anxious for a few minutes, worrying about what she’d think. But when she arrived, it all melted away at the sight of her big blue eyes.

“Hey,” Kass greeted, giving him a one-armed hug and pulling away before he did. She handed him her wet coat and strolled into the dining area.

“Nice windows,” she murmured appreciatively.

He gave a nod and acted cooler than he felt. They went all the way back to university, before Daniel left the UBC Sauder School of Business for Emily Carr. They had dated for a short while, but somehow it didn’t feel so short to him.

She rapped her knuckles against the kitchen countertop. “Granite? You’re rolling in it man.”

Daniel grinned. “I know.”

“Has your mom seen this place yet?”

“Nope.”

“I bet she’d be happy that you’re not a starving art school grad. In fact, you sold out really well.”

Daniel shrugged. “You don’t understand Chinese parents. I’m not in business, medicine, or real estate.”

“You’re in advertising.”

“I do ‘creative’ work. I’m dead to her.”

Kass was about to say something but decided against it. When they went into the living room, she whistled. “White leather and chrome. No sign of cheap Ikea shelving in sight.” Her eyes wandered over to the view from the balcony but suddenly she wrinkled her nose. “What’s with the smell?”

The anxiety returned. “There’s an issue with the ceiling.”

She looked up and frowned. “Aw, that’s a shame.”

“I’m sure it’s minor. It’ll be fixed in no time.”

“Be careful, man. These can destroy entire buildings—you can’t be too safe in Vancouver.”

“I know, I know.” He didn’t like the shift in the conversation. “Either way, I still live across from an oyster bar. Want to go?”

“Sure.”

They put on their coats and Daniel retrieved an umbrella. As he locked the door, he had the urge to look at the bulge one more time. He pushed the impulse aside and made his way down the building, ready to face the awful weather.

* * *

Daniel walked home from work, the sights reminding him that Gastown was a combination of luxury, kitsch, and homeless. He did his best to pretend that it was only the former and sped past the latter. Once he arrived home, he eased into the lounge chair with a sigh of relief, but a sweet scent drew his attention upwards.

The bulge had changed. Fine lines crept across its surface; tendrils began to peek out of the cracking paint, sprouting pink nubs at the ends; stems crept out and intertwined. Was it a plant growing out of the ceiling? It looked like one. Daniel didn’t know what kind it was, but either way, it was growing and would bloom sometime. The thought made him shudder.

He phoned the building manager.

“ _Hello._ ”

He swallowed, his throat was dry. “Hi, I—”

“ _You have reached Oleg Lysenko_ ,” a voice message droned on, enunciating each word with a thick accent. “ _I would like to take your call, but I am undergoing laser eye surgery. Leave a message and I will get back to you._ ”

Daniel cursed, hung up, and went on Google. It turned out that Vancouver properties often had problems with leaky ceilings in new condos and mould in old houses, but he was the only one with an invasive plant in the ceiling. He didn’t dare ask his networks or call a random repair person. He didn’t want to become Daniel Who Bought Bad Property, especially when his mother was a real estate agent voted best in Richmond 5 years running. His imperfect condo was a reflection of his character, and it was best for him to fix it in private before he could let others in. If everyone knew that he had a problem condo, he’d be no better off than the usual twenty-something nouveau pauvre living in a ramshackle East Van basement suite. And he didn’t want anything to do with _them_.

Daniel called building manager again throughout the week to no response and an increasing sense of helplessness. His emails were left unanswered. He resumed normal life as best as he could, but the plant was always on his mind. Also, he was developing a cough.

The iPhone rang, it made him jump.

_Unknown number._

He fumbled with the screen. “H-hello?”

“ _Dah-nul_ ,” it said. “ _Lei sik dzo fan mei ah_?”

Daniel choked on his spit. “What?”

“Have you eaten yet _?_ ”

“What the— _mom?_ ”

“I heard you bought a leaky condo. Where was your building inspector?”

He groaned. He hoped she hadn’t told anyone else. “It’s a small spot in the ceiling. I’ll have it fixed.”

“And your building is _old_. Is it up to code? Can it survive fire, flooding, or an earthquake?”

“I didn’t pay my agent to sell me crap, _ma_.”

“Can you pay your mortgage? Your unit is very expensive and your work pays very little.”

Daniel clenched his teeth. “None of your business.”

“You can sell before it’s too late—”

“I don’t need to—”

“—then you can stay with me while I find you a nice condo. I know a good one in Richmond, right by the Skytrain station. You’d like that since you can’t drive, right?”

His childhood flashed before his eyes: the forced piano lessons, the coercion of taking Mandarin in high school instead of French, the long extracurricular math and Cantonese lessons, the push towards the business program, his mother’s disappointment, the pressure to be an upstanding success or else he’d be sent back to Hong Kong. He hated it all and his mother was the cause.

“I don’t need your pity condo,” he growled.

His mom was quiet. She was quiet for too long.

“I worry,” his mom finally spoke. “I worry that you’re making a big mistake. I just don’t want you be like the homeless people you live beside. We did not come to Canada for this.” She heaved a heavy sigh. He knew that she was exaggerating and making him feel guilty, but she was very effective nonetheless.

He rubbed his temples. “Fine.”

“I’ll call again.”

“Fine.”

“Bye,” she hung up before he could reply.

Daniel cursed and swore to never answer _Unknown number_ calls again. Even though he avoided his mother, her voice remained rooted in his brain for as long as he could remember, nagging him about his failures and questioning all his life choices. The voice was frequently hers, oftentimes his, and sometimes anyone else in his life—like a mean-spirited siren that he couldn’t evict from his consciousness. It would sing mockeries of his crushes on white girls, his cultural authenticity, being “too Canadian”, and his decision to go art school. It cooed that he was trying too hard when he could never belong. He couldn’t get the voice to shut up unless he drank, which is why he stayed away from his real mother in the interest of saving his sanity.

That night while he prepared Mapo Tofu, he felt a sense of unease… as if he was being watched. He turned on all the lights and looked through the closets, not exactly knowing what he was searching for.

He returned to the kitchen counter. Daniel rubbed his neck and proceeded with the slicing, then idly glanced up.

Someone was on the balcony.

He jumped back. For a moment he saw a junkie with open sores plastered against the glass sliding door. But there were was only a pigeon staring dumbly back.

Daniel scowled. What was he thinking? He went back to the tofu and chopped up the other ingredients.

_Heat peanut oil in a wok over high heat._

The oil sizzled.

_Add ground pork; stir-fry until crispy and fragrant._

The pork was salmon-pink and vaguely resembled entrails. He broke up the chunks with the ladle and stirred it so it would cook evenly. As the pork sizzled in the oil, it browned and turned into a pale grey-olive hue. The colour made him uneasy, it was like skin from a human corpse.

_Wait. What the fuck?_

Daniel stepped away from the wok. Where did that thought come from? Of course this was pork. He had to stop being paranoid.

The pork smelled delicious. He went back to cooking.

_Reduce heat to medium, add garlic and scallions._

The garlic had a strong smell. It almost covered up the smell of the condo, that sickly-sweet musk.

_Add chili bean paste, black beans, and ground Sichuan pepper. Stir-fry for about 1 minute until the oil is a bright red colour._

The oil, instead of being bright red, was a rich crimson like pork blood.

_Pour in the stock, stir. Mix in the tofu gently in order to keep the cubes intact._

He pushed them gently with the back of the ladle. He hated it when restaurants served this dish with crushed tofu, it was awful. He was also doing too much overtime at work to eat out with friends, and he didn’t want to be out when a cold was creeping up on him. He just wanted to eat comfort food in front of his Macbook Pro and watch YouTube vids. But instead of having a pristine condo to nest in, he had to put up with that smell and that weird growth…

His eyes opened wide. Daniel realized that he was stirring mindlessly. Chunks of tofu were crushed, irrevocably denied of their true silky cube form. Instead, they floated to the surface, warped and glistening yellow, resembling maggots.

A burning sensation spread across his face.

“THAT’S FUCKING IT!” he yelled at the plant. “You’re not ruining my life any longer!”

From the top of a ladder, he tried to yank out the plant; it wouldn’t budge. He snipped at it with kitchen shears; it broke the shears. He even tried torching the thing with a butane lighter; some of its leaves wilted and darkened in colour, but it remained unchanged otherwise.

And there was a burning smell, not from the plant. It smelled like burned meat.

He had left the stove on. The smoke alarm screeched.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Daniel found a magazine and fanned the alarm.

The alarm stopped. Then it screeched again.

He opened everything: the windows, the balcony sliding doors, whatever he could open. It still kept on screeching. Then he finally turned off the stove and rushed the wok to the balcony to let it cool down.

And it was finally silent, except for the yelling down in the streets below. The burnt smell dissipated and the musk of the plant returned.

Daniel phoned the building manager again.

“ _Hi, this is Oleg_.”

“Oh finally, I’ve—“

“ _I am recovering from a medical procedure_ ,” the recording continued. “ _Please leave a messag—_ ”

He would have slammed the receiver if the phone had one, so instead he tapped the _End Call_ button angrily.

Daniel was furious and his clothes smelled of pork, plant musk, and smoke. He decided to take a shower to cool off. He washed, lathered, conditioned, and moisturized. Despite the promises of relaxation and rejuvenation from the body care packaging, he just felt more anxious. The plant was out of control, and he had to control it. But he was tired. And the mortgage was eating up a chunk of his income; he probably should start doing some freelance on top of his current work. He didn’t want to choose between eating and living in Gastown, where $20 was the going rate for five sausages in a pot of water, drinks not included.

Daniel stepped out of the shower, towelled off, and pulled on his hemp velour pyjamas.

His stomach rumbled. It hadn’t digested anything since that Probiotic Merry Berry yogurt for lunch.

Daniel took a peek at the wok out on the balcony. No, of course he wouldn’t eat that. It was burnt and… rained on. He looked through the pantry and found a bag of organic brown rice and two and a half pieces of Pocky, green tea flavoured. He ate the Pocky while staring dumbly at the wok through the balcony door, then made himself walk to the bed, where he collapsed without bothering to pull up the sheets.

* * *

The next morning, he woke up choking on a nosebleed and feeling a chill in his bones. It must have been the dry air in combination with the cold. So he called in sick that morning. And the morning after that, and the one after that too. He thought about visiting a doctor, especially since basic health services were free, but he was too miserable to leave the house. Sleep always won. The other benefit of sleep was that it made the inner voice shut up, so he didn’t have to listen to it deride him for being weak and sickly.

On the sixth day, he woke up with his cheek pressed against the laptop keyboard and his drool pooled over the trackpad. Daniel groaned and blearily stared at the screen. 2:03pm. _Way_ past the time he was supposed to wake up for work. He checked his iPhone.

_1 new voice mail message_

He listened. He was fired.

Daniel sighed, limped to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of scotch. It soothed his throat and had a warmth that spread throughout his body, a warmth that he desperately needed. He felt so cold that he wondered how the plant managed to flourish.

The plant had bloomed while he slept through the past week. A mass of thick stems descended, purple-blue like a bruise. They were weighed down by things that could be called flowers, only these didn’t resemble Daniel’s idea of what flowers looked like. The salmon-pink heads were long and cylindrical, and rows of them dangled from the ceiling. Their texture appeared to lie in the uncanny valley between natural rubber and human flesh. It took over half of the living room ceiling and glimmered a riot of colours that was nauseating, upsetting Daniel’s careful selection of white furnishings. And the smell, the smell was stronger. More complex. More—alive.

Daniel sipped his scotch and gave the plant mass a dirty look.

He fixed himself a mug full of ginger tea and sat back down, searching on Craigslist for freelance work to fall back on. His inner voice resurfaced, whispering sweet nothings like he was good for nothing and unemployable and a disappointment and a waste of space so might as well he go to sleep. It was a persuasive bugger but he managed to ignore it.

There was a knock at the door.

Daniel peeked through the eyehole while nursing the mug.

“It’s Oleg,” the man said. “The building manager.”

_Fucking finally_. He opened the door and choked on the smell of stale cigarettes. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Daniel extended a hand, shielding his nose with the mug.

The building manager walked past him and tossed his stained sports coat on the lounge chair. Daniel flinched.

“I apologize for the delay, Mister Kim.”

“It’s Kwan.”

The building manager wrinkled his nose. “I see that there’s something wrong with the ventilation.”

“Yeah, the plant’s been a big problem.”

“The plant?” The building manager looked up. His eyes widened and he took a step back.

Daniel slurped his tea. “Yeah. It’s epic like the fucking Butchart Gardens.”

“Have you talked to the old lady on the first floor?

“What?”

“She likes to garden on the roof. Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“She plants tomatoes in pots. These plants are different.” Daniel’s eye twitched.

The manager shrugged. “These are red and round.”

“No! These are _salmon-pink_ and they have _fingers_!” he shrieked.

He was met with a bewildered stare.

“Young man…” the building manager started, then cleared his throat when he saw Daniel’s furious glare. “Uh, Mister Kim—”

“It’s _Kwan_.”

“— _Kwan_. When was the last time you left the house?”

Daniel frowned. “Maybe a week ago. I’ve been ill.”

The man’s forehead wrinkled. “Maybe a walk would be good for you. And a shower.”

“But what about the plant?”

“The plant?” The man stared blankly.

“Yes, the giant garden growing on my ceiling.” He sipped his tea. “How are you going to get rid of it?”

The building manager glanced up again. “That’s the least of your problems.”

He spat out his tea. “ _W-what_! What do you mean?!”

“What I mean is that you should go see a doctor first. And a therapist.”

“But the plant! The plant is _huge_! The plant is bigger than me! Bigger than my couch! Bigger than my countertops!” he waved frantically.

The building manager sighed. “Yes. The plant is big. Ginormous, even. But I cannot help you with this until you help yourself.”

Daniel dropped the mug. “You’re shitting me. I’m reporting you to the strata council.”

“And I respond to all emails on the behalf of the strata,” the man shrugged. “Have it your way.”

He burned with rage. “ _Get out_.” He picked up the filthy sports coat and hurled it at the door.

The man caught it. “I will, and so should you.”

Daniel slammed the door behind him.

He stomped towards the cleaning closet and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. As he wiped down the lounge chair , he cursed the building manager. First in English, then in Cantonese—wishing death upon his entire family and his cousins thrice removed. His curses eventually gave way to an old tune, and the smell of Febreze masked the offending odours. Daniel gradually felt a sense of peace. His personal space was back in equilibrium. He had survived another day.

When he pulled off his gloves, he was greeted by the sight of salmon-pink moss on his fingertips.

* * *

The moss wouldn’t come off. It wouldn’t wash it off and trimming it was as painful as ripping off his own skin. It grew up to his elbows; little spores dotted up his neck and down his torso. The moss also started to grow on his feet. Daniel had panicked and nearly phoned for an ambulance or his mom, but he remembered that he still had a reputation to keep. If he looked for treatment, word would get out in this small city. Everyone would avoid him, especially if the tests found him to be infectious. Even if he was rid of it the damage would have been done, like a sexually transmitted disease revealed on LinkedIn. He’d be marked as a freak: unemployable and unwanted forever. He was going to become well on his own and no one would ever find out about it.

But that didn’t stop him from being miserable.

His feet were now too swollen for his shoes, so he never left the house. Daniel subsisted off takeout food; he couldn’t bring himself to cook after the Mapo Tofu incident, although he couldn’t bear to eat the mushrooms or shrimp in his takeout. It didn’t help that parts of the plant mass had parts that resembled the gills of a mushroom or the legs of a shrimp, and they _twitched_. Too bad— they used to be his favourite ingredients.

And Daniel still had that cold. He drew the curtains for extra privacy and better heat insulation. His mossy hands made typing on the keyboard difficult but still doable. He could continue to work freelance projects from home and pay the mortgage. He was self-sufficient. When he wasn’t working, he was doing online research on the plant. He read academic plant biology essays and heated message board debates deep into the night. He posted pictures of his apartment and his body on various websites and a new photo blog documenting the transformation. There had to be an answer somewhere out there.

He hauled himself off to bed at 3 am, woke up at 3 pm, worked on his freelance projects, and repeated the cycle. He stopped checking Facebook and his personal email because he was tired of all the messages that his friends were sending him. Every time he pretended to be normal he felt like he was lying and on the verge of exploding. And seeing how _normal_ everyone else was made his dysfunction even more aggravating. He had to ignore superfluous stressful things like Other People and work on himself, and he made some progress. Of course progress wasn’t made on the days when he huddled into a ball and rocked himself to sleep, but it was a routine he could put up with.

That was until Kass texted him.

_I miss you. Can we meet soon?_

A sense of need overwhelmed him, pushing him to the verge of tears. He wanted to be with her so badly, to tell her everything, and to hear her say that everything was going to be okay. But he imagined the look of disgust on her face. She wouldn’t see him the same way and he didn’t want to lose her. 

The iPhone screen swam before his eyes and he bit his lip, fumbling with the touchscreen. The screen wouldn’t register his touch the same way.

_Can’t meet soon, too busy._

He put down the phone and wiped his eyes, the spongy texture of his fingers making him shudder.

_No one has seen you in a month. What’s wrong?_

Daniel took a while to respond, salmon-pink flecks came off his fingertips and stuck to the phone screen.

_Nothing. I just need to be alone for a while._

He stood up and poured himself a glass of scotch to cool his nerves. There was a knock at the door and he spilled his drink down his shirt.

“Danny?” Kass’ muffled voice came through the door.

He stood still, but his hands were still shaking.

“I know you’re in there.”

“This isn’t the time,” he croaked. “Go away.”

“You haven’t left the building in a while. It’s not healthy.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. “Do you want to go out for a walk?”

“No.”

“Are you going to let me in?”

“No.”

Kass gave a heavy sigh. “I just want to help with… whatever’s been going on.”

He bit his lip, staring at his mossy hands.

“You don’t have to tell me everything now, but you will later, right?”

He exhaled. “Right.”

Silence.

“I… I asked the internet about you,” Kass gave a nervous laugh.

“What?”

“I posted a topic about you on a message board, anonymously, of course. I asked them about what I should do with a guy who seems to be having problems but won’t talk about them, hasn’t left his apartment in a month, and can’t seem to be persuaded to open the door.”

Daniel didn’t know how to respond.

She was quiet.

“What did the internet say?” he asked.

“They first said ‘Dump The Mother Fucker Already’, which doesn’t apply because I already had dumped you a long time ago—

“Thanks,” he rolled his eyes.

“And second, I probably need to see a therapist about the emotionally unavailable men in my life, and you do too. Well, go see a therapist about your social anxiety, not about emotionally unavailable men.”

“…huh.”

“…yeah.”

“I don’t have social anxiety,” Daniel said flatly.

She made a choking sound. “ _What!_ Then why the _hell_ are you not opening the door?!”

He slumped against the wall. “It’s complicated.”

Kass was silent; she was silent for along time. It made him anxious.

“I almost have it under control,” he tried to say reassuringly.

“YOU!” she exploded. “You’re so _goddamn_ stubborn. This is why we broke up! _This_!”

“You tell me now?” he snarled. “Thanks for heads up.”

“You know what? I’m sick of caring about you and going nowhere. If you want to deal with this your way, then _fine_. I’m done with you.” He heard her storm off and descend down the stairs.

Then she was gone.

Tears escaped from his eyes dripped down to his palms, which were quickly absorbed by the moss. He stayed like that for a while. He eventually gained the strength to hobble over to the lounge chair and wrap a blanket around himself. He knew that he was pathetic but at least he was comfortable. He was trying to make things better, really. The voice in his head serenaded him to give up the fight, lie down, and die of neglect. But he fought it off.

He opened the Macbook Pro and continued on with the plant research until he found his pictures on the front page of Reddit. The vast majority of comments were vulgar quips and the more intelligent ones explained it away as a convincing urban legend. Copycat photos surfaced and similar blogs proliferated. Professionals called him a fake. No one believed him except for members of a folk remedy message board—at least they suggested several apple cider-derived recipes for him to apply to his skin. 

Daniel slammed the laptop shut.

* * *

Three months had passed since the plant first appeared, and now it blanketed the entire ceiling—crawling down the walls and ruining his framed typography posters. At least it also covered up all the mirrors. That was fine by him since he didn’t want to see how his entire body was covered in moss except for his face. It was only recently that he learned how to take care of it. Whenever it was brittle and dry, it would flake off and he would bleed as if he suffered from a thousand paper cuts. He made sure to always have a pot of water boiling to keep the air moist, and learned how to clean the moss gently with diluted tea tree oil. He felt calmer when he focused on taking care of himself with one thing at a time. 

As much as Daniel wanted to be normal again, he learnt how to live with the plant mass in the meantime. And he had to admit, the plant mass had grown into something beautiful. It teemed with life. For every nauseating twitching part, there were delicate flower petals that fell and covered the floor like cherry blossoms. Its incongruent limbs, the decay and sweetness, the thorns and petals, and the grotesque and divine all came together in an organic mass of chaos so inspiring that he could never hope to replicate it.

He just wished that he could offer it more floor space.

It was bright inside although the outside world was shut out. All the screens, compact fluorescents, and gadgets radiated a light more welcoming than any sky in Vancouver could aspire to. The plant mass relished it and in turn, it rewarded Daniel with sustenance. Luscious fruit grew beneath the kitchen sink, fungi flourished between the bed slats, and the sweetest sap dripped down from the roots that dangled from the spotlights. He was well-provided for and he devoured its gifts, but he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more.

He wanted meat.

Daniel heard the sounds of animals and his mouth watered, but he couldn’t find them. It drove him mad. The living room had thick stalks that extended upwards to heaven, and he scaled them in search of nesting birds. He knew they were around, the greedy bastards were always stealing his fruit. Daniel took a kitchen knife from his belt and hacked away the thin branches blocking his view. He climbed his way to the chirping sounds.

And there a fat bird, red with a yellow breast, dozing.

He grabbed it and wrapped his thick spongy fingers around its neck. It shrieked and flapped its wings, but it was too late. It was his now. Daniel was about to clamber down when a branch snapped and he fell, landing on his back. He howled as pain stabbed into his spine. The bird hopped away. The knife was gone, but he still had something else in his hand. He clutched it as he heard growling sounds come closer and closer.

He cowered when he saw the hideous things closing in on him. A goat had eyelids so swollen with pink moss that each eyeball was just as large as its snout, grinding its teeth only inches away from his left foot. A chimp with eight arms protruding from its belly jumped towards him, ready to tear him apart limb by limb. An albino crow had a pink vine growing out of its beak like a deformed tongue and it lunged for his eye—

Daniel screamed and attacked the crow. He pounded it with whatever was in his hand, again and again. Its croaked then became silent as its head split open like a watermelon, spilling sweet juice and seeds.

Then crow and the other animals disappeared as if they were never there. And he was left crouched over the ground, holding the pieces of a broken iPhone in an empty well-lit room.

Daniel was still. His gut churned and he felt bile coming up. He ran to the kitchen sink and threw up. He felt confused, dizzy, and empty. It was a wonder that he wasn’t crying.

He turned off the ceiling lights. Then the laptop, the tablet, the lamp, even the night light… whatever had a light or a screen—he turned it all off. He retreated to the lounge chair and pulled his blanket close around him. He wanted to forget about everything that happened.

So he slept. And his sleep went undisturbed for a long time.

* * *

The ground shook and Daniel fell off his perch. He didn’t know if it was in his sleep or in the real world.

The pounding on the door answered the question.

“IS ANYONE THERE?” a voice yelled.

Daniel yawned and climbed back up, not wanting to leave the comfort of his nest. It was comfortable to be wrapped in white polyester and purple leaves. The petals decided to cover him too; how thoughtful.

But the stranger at the door wouldn’t leave him alone. “THIS IS THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. THIS IS AN EARTHQUAKE EVACUATION.”

His eyes opened wide. Earthquake? Earthquake was bad. It was bad for his skin, for his fruits, for his petals, for his animals, for the plant, for himself. He had to save himself so he could save everything else.

“I’m here,” he croaked.

The stranger at the door must have heard him, because it sounded like he was chopping the door open. “Stay calm and hide under a desk. I’ll come get you!” As he hacked away, the door began to splinter and Daniel could see the man’s bulky silhouette and the dim lights behind him.

The man’s axe reached the part of the plant mass that hugged the door. Daniel winced. He hoped that the plant mass understood that he couldn’t do anything; he had to save himself from the earthquake.

After some time, the stranger cut through the door and was face to face with him. The stranger had a mask on, but Daniel could see the look of horror in his eyes. He slithered towards the stranger and tried to reason with him, but the ground shook and both of them slipped. Between them, the floorboards fell away to reveal an astoundingly large plant stalk growing from the depths of the earth, surrounded by a chasm four blocks wide and yawned down into infinity. As the stalk continued to expand from one balcony to another, the building continued to crumble. Bricks and wood and furniture slid down three stories, bounced off the stalk, and sunk into depths below. The sight filled Daniel with so much awe that he wanted to kneel, but his mossy skin snagged on to the plant mass while it intertwined itself with the Mother Stalk. The stranger’s slippery suit latched on to nothing as he slid past the hardwood flooring, but he held on as he dangled over the precipice.

He forgot how to speak to the stranger, but Daniel grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up. The stranger struggled against him, kicking and screaming and swaying and weeping. Daniel tried to hold on, but he couldn’t, it was too hard. The stranger slipped from his grasp, launched into a free fall, and continued falling. Daniel wailed and shut his eyes.

He found another nook in the plant mass and rocked himself. The Mother Stalk continued to grow and the plant mass clung on to it like a long lost child. The rain clouds parted and for the first time in a long time, Daniel could feel the warmth of the sun on his face. But he was tired, so very tired. He was tired of all this changing and excitement. He just wanted to sleep and dream.

The plant understood.

He closed his eyes and felt like he was floating, his burden lifted away from him. His body was drawn up towards the garden in the sky, towards the ceiling that no longer was. Everything else fell away. Daniel felt his moss rest on moist ground, finally at peace. He understood that he was going to be a part of something bigger, and he would form the bones of something majestic and would outlive anything built and rebuilt on this tiny part of the earth.

He found home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 2013. I have not read Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer, but needless to say I approve any of all plants being freaky. I workshopped this story and nobody liked it, and I don't know my short story markets. So here you go, internet.


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